


The Night Before

by teasoni



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, i have nothing else to tag this as honestly, im just relaly drunk, kiss kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 17:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18348308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teasoni/pseuds/teasoni
Summary: Maedhros and Fingon's final despair before the Sudden Flame; they sense their doom upon the air, and within their dreams, and yet neither one is wont to admit it.or: i'm super drunk and love them too much





	The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> hey fellas so like with the whole amazon-lotr-spinoff thing i've been put off tolkien but now i'm like suuuuper drunk and had to write about my Ultimate OTP.... so have this... whatever it is...

“And I would die for you!” Maedhros exclaimed, his voice as flame against the blackness of night; and all Fingon could do was weep, weep, for he felt his own demise in his bones like rot set deep, and he cast himself upon Maedhros’s feet and clung to him.

“Do not say such things!” he begged, and with much despair did Maedhros look upon his king, golden ribbons gleaming amidst the black sea of hair, glimmering still of the distant shores of Aman; and he stooped low to catch Fingon in his arms, and raising him he kissed him upon his crying mouth, and said:

“My love, my _Findekáno,_ my star, my life.”

And he placed upon Fingon’s brow three kisses, and for a brief moment they shone thereupon as stars, before fading into his skin as water into the soil. Fingon gazed upon Maedhros’s scarred and misshapen face, and despair bloomed deep within his heart, a rose black and rife with thorn, and he wept evermore, for he saw within the fate of Fëanor his own doom.

“I lovest though more than any elf or land or sky,” he whispered, clinging thus upon Maedhros’s arms, pressing his open mouth to his face. “And of you I shall think upon my dying day, below my smiting blow, so Ilúvatar bewills it.”

Maedhros, then, allowed himself to weep; within that vaulted confine of Himring he and the High King of the Ñoldor embraced and made furious love, the heat of their bodies warming the infallible cold of that hill and the fortress, for the first and only time, burned with light.

“I will serve you in life and in death,” Maedhros the Tall proclaimed as he clung to his Lord; “For you are my King and my Beloved, and forever shall you claim my fortitude.”

 

And Fingon – noble Fingon, valiant in mind and deed, clung to him as a babe and wept, his skin glimmering like the brightest of night-time skies, shivering.

 

“ _Maitimo, my Maitimo,_ ” he whispered, and there was doom upon his lips, for he felt upon them blood and pain of the people who were not his own. He felt the black taste of treachery and knew not from whence it came, and he tasted it and beguiled it, and drowned himself in the flame of the son of Fëanor he held so in his grasp. “I have loved you always, and in death I shall love you still.”

 

Maedhros could do naught but shudder and break apart as willingly as Arda beneath Fingon’s trained hand. He had weathered the terrors of Angband and yet still could not withstand the onslaught of Fingon’s affection, of his love, of his tender caress; and Maedhros cried aloud, for he knew great grief would soon be at hand, and he gripped Fingon between white-knuckled fingers with a fear he had not felt so viscerally since he was freed from the bleak face of Thangorodrim.

 

 _I would follow you anywhere._ ‘Twas not words, but a thought, and yet still Fingon heard it as clear as the peal of a bell. He fixed his eyes upon Maedhros’s as he brought forth a cry of anguish and need; he held withing his fingers the slippery serpent of Maedhros’s throat and kissed him deeply, his tongue searching past his teeth, reaching for his heart, asking for everything. And Maehdros – he would surely give it.

 

For the final night of their coupling did they spend upon the cold floor of Himring’s hall; Fingon was consumed in his majesty, lit with the light of the Valar and their heralds. And Maedhros, cursed and cast from the grace of the Gods as was his father, shrank beneath such brilliance, and yet still rose as a flame against the dazzling brightness of his love. And together they consumed the bleak land with their light and inexhaustible flame, setting ablaze each forsaken tree and felling each foul carrion-bird from its perch.

 

“I love you,” Medhros rasped upon his last breath; he spoke it to the sky in a howl of anguish, as he was held aside by his brothers and arms-men, wailing at the Valar as he felt his own _fëa_ rent asunder as Fingon was rent apart by the Balrogs. “My King, my love!”

But Fingon did not hear him, and with deep grief in his heart did he fall beneath the Balrogs’ blazing whips, sullied and desolate upon the fields of battle. Victory had been close, yet treachery had besieged them utterly in the end; but in his final moments upon the fair plains of Arda he thought of his love, forever and always, Maedhros – _Maitimo_ – fairest and mightiest of all the sons of Fëanor, and as his life faded upon those blasted fields he beseeched to Mandos that they may once more be reunited upon the ever-fair fields of Valinor.


End file.
